well.’
‘I thought the anti-establishment Gerry Pountney was braver than that.’
‘Braver than what?’ Pountney was bemused.
‘Look, you resigned from the Foreign Office because you thought their policy towards Nasser and his henchmen was wrong at a time when we should have been helping the Hungarians. You wrote a book to give more permanent form to your arguments. Does it end there? Has Gerry Pountney, harrier of those more powerful than himself, shot his bolt? Is he a one-hit wonder? Does he retreat under the skirts of a newspaper whose leaders read like a government press release? Come on, Gerry. You’re worth more than that, aren’t you?’
Had Bomberg suggested lunch so he could attack him for accepting a job that had nothing to do with him? The mystery about the invitation deepened.
‘Look at it another way, Gerry,’ Bomberg continued. ‘Print’s finished, OK? Hot metal, thundering presses, restrictive practices and out-of-control unions – they’ve had their day, thank God, and not before time. The newspaper industry has begun its fatal slide to a watery grave and it’s not worth saving. Ten years from now there won’t be a newspaper business to speak of. When the ship is sinking, my advice is take to the lifeboats fast.’
‘The ship seemed pretty buoyant when I left it an hour ago.’
‘Remember what I told you all those years ago, Gerry? I was right then and I’m right now, OK? The future’s in television. Come and join the future. Come and work with me.’
Mystery solved. Lunch was a job offer. Julius was handling the subject with all the sensitivity of a charging bull.
‘I don’t need a lifebelt, Julius. I’m quite happy where I am.’
‘Look, I’m talking to you from the future. I’m offering you the chance to sail in a ship which is not only seaworthy in every department but is now beginning to get up speed and make waves.’ He paused for a moment to draw breath. ‘I want a new kind of presenter, Gerry. I want a journalist withexperience of foreign affairs who can work in front of a camera, OK? You’ve been overseas, haven’t you?’
‘Moscow. For a few months. That’s all.’
‘Good enough. You’d fit the bill as well as anyone.’ Bomberg lit a cheroot and contemplated Pountney from behind a cloud of blue smoke. ‘But I get the impression you despise our brave new world. I’m right about that too, aren’t I?’
‘How can I despise what I don’t know?’
‘Show me a more self-satisfied organisation than a national newspaper.’ Bomberg laughed. ‘Most journalists I know would bite my hand off to come and work in television. They ring up every day begging for jobs. What’s holding you back?’
‘You think I bought the wrong ticket. I’m not convinced I did.’
‘The cosy confidence of Fleet Street. How I hate it. All right, I can take that argument head-on. Is television a serious medium? Can it deal with news, facts, current affairs? You may think the jury’s still out on that one. I maintain there’s no case to be answered. Television can do the job a damn sight better than most newspapers, and a damn sight quicker too. That’s the point, OK? The speed of news-gathering and broadcasting will change the world and put newspapers out of business. The power of television as a popular medium is awe-inspiring. Gerry, come and make your name with the rest of us as we pioneer this extraordinary revolution.’
*
‘Coffee?’ Bomberg was already at the machine, pouring himself a cup of what was known at the Centre as Bomberg’s ‘black poison’.
‘No thanks.’ Last time he’d drunk Bomberg’s coffee, he’d felt ill for days.
The office was a cramped and chaotic affair. Bomberg himself, a small, unprepossessing man with a sallow pock-marked face and a shock of stiff black hair beginning to grey,sat in the only armchair, an ancient cane-backed affair, out of keeping in scale and style with the rest of the office, but to which he was devoted
‘I thought the anti-establishment Gerry Pountney was braver than that.’
‘Braver than what?’ Pountney was bemused.
‘Look, you resigned from the Foreign Office because you thought their policy towards Nasser and his henchmen was wrong at a time when we should have been helping the Hungarians. You wrote a book to give more permanent form to your arguments. Does it end there? Has Gerry Pountney, harrier of those more powerful than himself, shot his bolt? Is he a one-hit wonder? Does he retreat under the skirts of a newspaper whose leaders read like a government press release? Come on, Gerry. You’re worth more than that, aren’t you?’
Had Bomberg suggested lunch so he could attack him for accepting a job that had nothing to do with him? The mystery about the invitation deepened.
‘Look at it another way, Gerry,’ Bomberg continued. ‘Print’s finished, OK? Hot metal, thundering presses, restrictive practices and out-of-control unions – they’ve had their day, thank God, and not before time. The newspaper industry has begun its fatal slide to a watery grave and it’s not worth saving. Ten years from now there won’t be a newspaper business to speak of. When the ship is sinking, my advice is take to the lifeboats fast.’
‘The ship seemed pretty buoyant when I left it an hour ago.’
‘Remember what I told you all those years ago, Gerry? I was right then and I’m right now, OK? The future’s in television. Come and join the future. Come and work with me.’
Mystery solved. Lunch was a job offer. Julius was handling the subject with all the sensitivity of a charging bull.
‘I don’t need a lifebelt, Julius. I’m quite happy where I am.’
‘Look, I’m talking to you from the future. I’m offering you the chance to sail in a ship which is not only seaworthy in every department but is now beginning to get up speed and make waves.’ He paused for a moment to draw breath. ‘I want a new kind of presenter, Gerry. I want a journalist withexperience of foreign affairs who can work in front of a camera, OK? You’ve been overseas, haven’t you?’
‘Moscow. For a few months. That’s all.’
‘Good enough. You’d fit the bill as well as anyone.’ Bomberg lit a cheroot and contemplated Pountney from behind a cloud of blue smoke. ‘But I get the impression you despise our brave new world. I’m right about that too, aren’t I?’
‘How can I despise what I don’t know?’
‘Show me a more self-satisfied organisation than a national newspaper.’ Bomberg laughed. ‘Most journalists I know would bite my hand off to come and work in television. They ring up every day begging for jobs. What’s holding you back?’
‘You think I bought the wrong ticket. I’m not convinced I did.’
‘The cosy confidence of Fleet Street. How I hate it. All right, I can take that argument head-on. Is television a serious medium? Can it deal with news, facts, current affairs? You may think the jury’s still out on that one. I maintain there’s no case to be answered. Television can do the job a damn sight better than most newspapers, and a damn sight quicker too. That’s the point, OK? The speed of news-gathering and broadcasting will change the world and put newspapers out of business. The power of television as a popular medium is awe-inspiring. Gerry, come and make your name with the rest of us as we pioneer this extraordinary revolution.’
*
‘Coffee?’ Bomberg was already at the machine, pouring himself a cup of what was known at the Centre as Bomberg’s ‘black poison’.
‘No thanks.’ Last time he’d drunk Bomberg’s coffee, he’d felt ill for days.
The office was a cramped and chaotic affair. Bomberg himself, a small, unprepossessing man with a sallow pock-marked face and a shock of stiff black hair beginning to grey,sat in the only armchair, an ancient cane-backed affair, out of keeping in scale and style with the rest of the office, but to which he was devoted
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